February 01, 2011

Do you dream about baseball during the middle of winter? When it is grey and cold, chunks of ice on sidewalk, banks of snow against the buildings, do you picture long summer days, green grass, men spitting and laughing, the smell of beer and urine, the humidity, and the tension of even the most routine ball game?

First, of course, there's football. And for some reason -- maybe because the sports are really like pickles and ice cream, two great tastes that DO NOT taste great together -- it seems like I'm only ever 'into' one at a time. I need palate-cleansing time. Again, judge me if you will, it won't change anything.

Then there's the fact that my football team has now been eliminated from contention by the sports team I probably hate most in the world, in either sport I follow. That'll put you off your feed, sports-wise, for at least a little while.

Meanwhile, this week, we find ourselves in that sea of dead air between the conference championship games in the NFL and the Super Bowl. Apparently there was some kind of football exhibition game played this past weekend, but seriously, who even watches that thing anymore? Even hardcore football fans have little interest in watching a scrimmage where everyone's just playing not to get hurt.

So. Back to Alex's question. Do I dream about baseball, as I look out my window and watch another foot-plus of snow come down on Boston?

And again I say, for the most part, no. Frankly, part of that palate cleansing I go through every year is using this Time of Tumbleweeds to do other things -- watch ANYTHING AT ALL besides a sporting event or a show about sports on my television, for example. Visit dear, old friends that are only in the country anymore for one month each year thanks to State Dept. jobs. Reacquaint myself with my husband, a two-sport widower.

You know. Life. That thing people are always trying to bug you with while you're watching the game.

But as I've thought about Alex's question, I've noticed that there is one little green shoot, if you will, of baseball that has at least cracked the surface of my wintry distraction. One little pang, that hits me, baseball-wise, from time to time, and has since before last season was over.

I try not to think about it, because when I say 'pang' that is the exact word I mean, like a hunger pang, and every time I give it attention it only seems to get worse. This is not a pleasant feeling I want to wallow in -- and there are other things to do besides rage that my pang will not be assuaged for another month yet.

But that feeling in the pit of my stomach, something like hunger, something like homesickness, hits me every time I can't avoid thinking about Kevin Youkilis, Dustin Pedroia, or a combination of the two.

August 09, 2010

Before this series began, predictions and declarations were made -- the Red Sox needed to take at least three out of four to have a meaningful remainder of the season, I heard at least one commentator say last Friday during the pregame show. The four-game set in the Bronx was hyped and framed as the whole enchilada, ball of wax, you name it, THIS WAS THE WHOLE SEASON, RIGHT HERE.

If they'd been swept, sure. I could see sticking in the proverbial fork after such a thing. And obviously winning the series would've been a huge boost to the ego, a solid enough foundation to build renewed optimism upon.

But reality, as usual, turned out to be somewhere in the middle, with a wild card (so to speak) thrown in.

The Sox took the first game of the series handily behind a solid outing from Clay Buchholz on Friday night, as footage of Dustin Pedroia running on the Yankee Stadium infield was shown. "Looking at him, you can tell he's still thinking about it," said Tito afterwards, reporting that Pedroia was found not to be game-ready after the brief set of sprints from one baseline to the middle of the infield.

And it's true. We were provided a closeup by NESN shortly after that quote from Tito, of Pedroia in conversation with a teammate behind the dugout fence, but looking away every so often toward the camera he didn't realize was zooming in. He stared off, clearly preoccupied, between the intermittent bursts of words tossed over his left shoulder toward whomever he was talking to, stroking the Youk-style beard he's grown.

Still. Being on schedule may feel behind schedule to Pedey, but it's encouraging for the rest of us. Combined with the win on Friday night, there was plenty of fuel for optimism as the weekend arrived.

On Saturday, which featured the weakest pitching matchup for the Sox going in -- Lackey / Sabathia -- the game most thought Boston would lose turned out as expected.

That, in turn, led to a dramatic showdown on Sunday night, with the pitcher you'd historically want most on the mound in such a game starting for us in Josh Beckett.

It's unfair, really, to put so much meaning onto a single game, as plenty of the groundwork for the team's tenuous position in the standings was laid well before it came down to this. It is even more unfair, I thought as I watched Beckett implode against the Yankee lineup again, to place THE ENTIRE REST OF THE SEASON on one particular pitching start. Does it really mean he's singlehandedly blown THE ENTIRE REST OF THE SEASON?

Still, it was difficult not to cast about for someone to blame as the Sox continued to take an embarrassing beating from the Bombers. Difficult not to quibble, for example, with a lineup that sat Mike Lowell while starting Kevin Cash, who made a boneheaded throw to third in the bottom of the fifth, tacking another run onto the Yankees' haul that inning.

Difficult, also, not to picture the faces that should've been there, and not to dwell on the woulda coulda shouldas. In that vein, I can only imagine what instincts seized Dustin Pedroia as he watched Bill Hall airmail a ball past V-Mart on what could've been a spectacular out in the bottom of the second. Or what might've been on Varitek or Youkilis' minds when Cash tossed the ball into left field*.

In the meantime, off in the Great White North, there was that wild card -- the Rays collapsed over the weekend in Toronto, losing five straight between last Wednesday and yesterday, including a sweep at the hands of the fourth-place Jays. Yesterday they even came close to being no-hit for what would've been the third time this season, only escaping that indignity vs. Brandon Morrow with two outs in the top of the ninth.

All of this rendered the series with New York much less significant, as the Red Sox retained their toehold in the Wild Card standings thanks to the Rays' losing streak. And then finally, today, behind 6 1/3 strong innings from Jon Lester, the Sox squeaked by with a series split in a 2-1 win.

And so, as momentous as this series was predicted to be, its outcome -- status quo, 6.0 games out of first place and 4.0 games out of the Wild Card -- leaves more questions than answers. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure what's supposed to be decided here, even as I'm sure I've been made to feel as if something should be. Even if the Red Sox had gotten swept, meaning we could all officially "give up", what does that really mean, in the end? None of us watch baseball games for the rest of the summer? How unrealistic is that?

__________________________________________

* We had some clue about Pedroia's reaction last night, as ESPN's cameras
focused on a commotion in the Red Sox dugout. John Farrell had Pedroia
in a headlock next to the Gatorade coolers, clapping a hand over
Pedroia's mouth (well, actually, his entire face) and hollering
something at Tito, who approached with what could only have been a pithy
response. ESPN remarked that Pedroia is driving the coaching staff
crazy in the dugout**; I can believe it. Last night it looked like his
last ounce of self-restraint had given way, at least temporarily.

** Meanwhile, I have also wondered if the prominent
presence of Pedroia and Youkilis in the dugout following their injuries -- Pedroia has made
a point to travel with the team and take treatment wherever they happen
to be playing, and Youkilis will return to as soon as
possible following his hand surgery -- has been a kind of tacit
editorializing vis a vis Ellsbury-gate. I still find the suggestion that
Ellsbury was at fault for the team's losses earlier this month because he was absent when he could allegedly play a load of hogwash, but seeing Pedroia and Youk act as they have, I am willing to concede there
could also be a nugget of truth at the heart of all that drama.

August 06, 2010

While working late tonight, I took a break to check my Twitter feed, and I got the news about Youk.

I've been trying a new tack as an optimist this season (I know. It's weird.), but even I have to admit, at that moment the tiny flame of hope I've been keeping alive grew considerably dimmer. As it turns out, the Injury Bug saved its unkindest cut for last. Just a day after the prodigal Jacoby returned, the man who'd been a rock at the heart of the lineup while others fell around him all season had to leave the field for the rest of the year.

He'll remain in the dugout, and you can tell by his prominent presence and obvious order-giving there this week that he is a powerful figure among his teammates. Reports are that he may even make the road trip to New York after his surgery, for "moral support."

At least staying in the dugout means that his fanatical dedication, the thing I enjoy most about him, will still be there to see sometimes. I don't think a guy who practices his swing in nearly every free moment of every game knows any other way to be. If he has to spend the rest of the season in the dugout, he has already demonstrated, he is going to own and command that dugout. He will patrol it mercilessly and rule it with an iron fist. That's just how it seems to be with him.

***

Adrian Beltre continues to come out of his shell, in all his fierce, weird glory. Josh Tomlin had retired the first ten Sox hitters before Beltre finally stepped to the plate in the fourth with the bases loaded and sent one onto Lansdowne Street.

In contrast to Youk's military precision, Beltre has suddenly emerged this homestand as a single-minded maniac, whaling away with furious abandon on anything resembling a baseball, as well as anything that comes too close to his cranium.

To which I say, you go, Beltre. You go. But I gotta admit, the whole thing with V-Mart and your head is pretty hilarious.

***

I'm sure most of us would be lying if we said we'd expected boldness and dominance from Daisuke today, but that's exactly what he delivered. Once the tide turned after Beltre's slam, he settled into a nice groove, and left having crafted a shapely line of 8.0 IP, 5H 1 ER, 2 BB(!) and 6 K. It's kind of like finding 20 bucks. It might not solve all your problems, but you'll definitely take it, and it might even make your day.

***

I'd be emerging from this game much more confident if it hadn't been for the ninth inning, which began with a five run lead and wound up taking two freaking pitchers approximately eleventy dozen pitches and umpteen freaking baserunners to get out of. All so they could salvage a split at home against a weak team. That, combined with the loss of Youk, is not exactly filling me with great bravado looking ahead to a series in the Bronx.

Journey with me for a moment into the land of metaphor: the Red Sox remind me right now of an old jalopy, wobbling and swerving and limping on down the road. It just keeps chugging along somehow, even though by the looks of it a single mud puddle more, just the slightest of bad bounces over a rut in the road, and it'll totally fall apart. That's not in the instances on its zigzagging journey where it seems like it's going to completely crash and burn.

And now there it goes, bobbing and weaving its way to New York, where in all probability its ultimate fate will be decided. I appreciate its freakish level of perseverance, but I won't be holding my breath back here waiting for a miracle.

August 04, 2010

Once again, "it could be worse" proves to be the proverbial famous last words.
I wrote that last night because even though the Sox had lost a frustrating game by a single run to a bad team (again, some more), at least we had not had to watch the "flower of our farm system" get his leg bent backwards.

The injury Cleveland catcher Carlos Santana suffered reminded me of Joe Theisman's famous gruesome injury at the hands of Lawrence Taylor, or of Willis McGehee's nasty leg-mangling in the Fiesta Bowl against Ohio State. At least we were not watching the few survivors of a trade deadline sell-off play out the string in the hopes of a youth revival, I reasoned, only to see the crown jewel of our prospects laid out in the dirt, writhing in agony.

Then I saw this:

And this:

Okay, I'm frustrated. Officially. Uncle. You got me. I am downright pissed off. The one thing I'd been holding onto all season was Youk. Good old, reliable, unhurt Youk. Always in the lineup. Sure, he'd get pegged with the ball now and then, as is his wont, but there he'd be, obsessively practicing his swing on the top step, out on the on-deck circle, and then in the batter's box, as steady in that routine as a cuckoo emerging from a clock, but maintaining an element of mystery by coming through with key hits and making fascinating changes to his facial hair. Many's the time I've thought to myself this season, At least we still have Youk.

And now this. Just when the others are coming back. Argh.

Admittedly I'm in a cranky mood already, baseball-wise, because while I was watching last night's demolition derby live and in high-definition, tonight I was reading elated Tweets saying the game had seen the best moment of the season with Mike Lowell's return and subsequent Monster shot, while I was far, far away from any remote chance of watching. Then, I heard Feisty Beckett made an appearance*. And where was I? Catatonically making a lengthy drive down I-95.

But...at least they won this time. And I can catch the highlights, then move on to hoping Ellsbury is actually going to be activated tomorrow, so maybe we can finally stop the insanity over his injury saga. At this point I care less about who's right or wrong than I care about the whole thing being over.

__________________

* Tonight's Beckett and Youkilis storylines came together in heartstring-tugging fashion as the dust settled on the shouting match. In the dugout, Youk patted Beckett on the belly with his bandaged hand, shooing him back down the steps when his ejection was handed down from the umpires.

July 25, 2010

All of it. The way Francona and Nipper clustered around the
despondent Pauley in the dugout, hanging his head so low it was almost
between his knees, the way Jason Varitek gave him a firm "buck up" slap
on the butt, the way Manny and Papi broke out the big-boy bats in
support, the way Mirabelli would lead Pauley gently back up onto the
mound during conferences with one hand on his back and was seen giving
him enthusiastic instruction between innings in the dugout...Sometimes
the "back up your teammates" ethic in baseball seems like so much
empty-headed machismo, especially when it comes to beanballs and fights.
But tonight it was a touching display, the millionaire Boston Red Sox
professional baseball club suddenly looking for all the world like a
ragtag sandlot team, sticking up for the little guy on the mound.

It was a toss-up, watching little Pauley, all growed up and starting for the Mariners last night (on just the 14th major league start of his career), between whether he was making hitters look stupid, or if Sox hitters were just off-balance. You could certainly argue Hermida and Lowrie were the victims of poor timing after long absence. Also, there were grumbles aplenty from both teams about the umpiring. And finally, at times there were mental errors for Sox hitters. For example, take Kevin Youkilis in the top of the second, smacking his own bat in frustration after a truly stupid...well, not even a swing...almost more of a flourish of the bat, really, which put him into an 0-2 hole .

You also wouldn't be able to tell whether Pauley's one-run win was by design or just muddling through from his demeanor. He still has a kind of "aw, shucks" way about him -- after he went on to strike out Youkilis, Pauley puffed out his cheeks and let out a long breath, as if he'd dodged a bullet But then, he buckled back down and wriggled out of a bases-loaded jam without so much as a run surrendered that inning.

He failed to dodge the bullet with David Ortiz two innings later. Papi unloaded on the first pitch he saw from Pauley in the top of the fourth, a pitch Pauley left, surely by accident, on the lower inside corner of the strike zone. Every angle and plane in Ortiz's body is attuned to hitting that precise pitch. He seemed to jump out of his shoes with eagerness to bury it in the right-field stands. 1-0, Boston.

Pauley was countered by about as cool a customer as they come on the other side of the ball. Jon Lester stacked the Ks like cordwood in those first four innings, dropping in curveball and cutter with ease for strikeouts both swinging and looking.

In the background, from time to time, rose a chant of "Let's Go, Red Sox".

Ortiz took Pauley for a ride again in the top of the fifth, but this one died in the glove in center field. Pauley would leave the next inning without giving up another run.

Lester, meanwhile, continued slicing through the Mariners lineup. Nine strikeouts. Ten. He'd faced the minimum through five and a third. It was beginning to look like the league would see another perfect game this summer.

That is, until the ball clanked off Eric Patterson's glove in center field, a ball which could have been, should have been a flyout.

Lester mostly maintained his expressionlessness, but his gestures grew short, and on occasion, a grimace flashed across his face, while he switched to the stretch as if woken from a dream. I suppose he pretty much had been.

A few pitches later, the no-hitter disappeared, along with the lead, into the same right-field stands where Papi's homer had landed, this time off the bat of Mariners left fielder Michael Saunders.

It was just the eighth home run for Saunders this season. It was the first homer off Lester by a lefty all year. I'm not saying...I'm just saying.

Now Lester's posture began to droop. Patterson looked like he was mumbling a curse, as the camera inevitably swung to his face in the immediate aftermath of this turn of events. That face suggested he was counting on the ground to swallow him, any minute now.

For every missed opportunity this series, there's been the shadow of the man who should be there. [Fill-in-the-blank] woulda had it. In tonight's case, the blank would be occupied by Ellsbury. The other night, on that fateful relay from Bill Hall to first, Pedroia. But they are not, to paraphrase another voice from Boston sports past, walking through that door. At least not for another few days.

July 24, 2010

5.2 innings, five Ks, one run. Not a career performance, of course, and it ended on a dismayed note as Terry Francona removed him mid-inning when he strayed above a strict pitch count in the top of the sixth.

But there's a palpable smolder about Beckett as he makes his return from an extended stay on the DL, and he got in his swaggers off the field last night in Seattle. The Ks weren't cheap, either -- and they came on the fastball, a 12-6 curveball and a nasty slider.

As is his norm, he scattered hits (5), but surrendered few runs. As has been his rotten luck in the past, Beckett also put in a solid effort, only to be denied a win for his troubles. Scott Atchison* took that honor, since the previous night's subject of scorn, Bill Hall, wouldn't hit his game-winning homer until the top of the seventh.

Not to be forgotten in last night's crisp 2-1 win: Adran Beltre, who laid the foundation for Hall's later heroics with a double to deep left center, and Kevin Youkilis, for scoring a run on that hit, and for the resurrection of The Full-On Beard. It has obviously been there to protect Youk during this time of injury, and continues to be a source of his power. I would like the slowly spreading Beard to know that I appreciate it, even if it never got the chance to prove itself on the national stage in the All-Star Game.

P.S. Eyebrows of Concern to Jonathan Papelbon, who made things a bit too much of an adventure again in the bottom of the ninth. What gives, guy? Well, when you get your act together, I'll be over here, picking out entrance music for Daniel Bard.

_______________________________________________* who comes with but one item attached to the mental file I have with his name on it: the memory of someone behind me in the grandstand at Fenway saying loudly, "Why is my Dad pitching for the Red Sox?!"

July 17, 2010

Tonight, the Sox got back up off the mat. They were down a run with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, having been unable to solve Cliff Lee for most of the game, when Kevin Youkilis and his lumberjack's ruddy beard, stepped to the plate and fired a single into left to bring what Don Orsillo called "Bonus Baseball" to Fenway.

Mike Cameron put a charge into the first pitch he saw in the 10th inning from Rangers reliever Alexi Ogando. NESN hadn't even finished going over Ogando's stats when they had to kill the graphic and call what looked to be the walkoff home run for Boston.

Instead, as the camera homed in on deep left center, Nelson Cruz reached into the Boston bullpen and plucked the homer back.

Cameron's face, as he stopped dead in his tracks just past first base, was deadpan. Numb. Shocked. On the dugout steps, Papelbon swore. Manny Delcarmen was warming, about to make his first appearance coming off the DL. No pressure, kid.

But Delcarmen was solid, and backed by stellar defense from Adrian Beltre and Do-it-all-Bill-Hall, who pulled a Dustin Pedroia impression, diving onto his face to snag a grounder and end the top of the 11th, giving the Sox another turn at bat with the score still tied.

A sacrifice and an error later, and the Sox had men at second and third with no outs in the 11th. The Rangers intentionally walked Ortiz, loading the bases.

Inexplicably, the Rangers elected to walk Papi and have submariner Darren O'Day face the man who'd tied the game two innings earlier. Once again, Youkilis delivered, in the form of a walk-off sacrifice fly to deep center, scoring Marco Scutaro for the first Red Sox win of the second half.

Just call this the MacGyver team, because right now they're engineering wins with a paper clip, ballpoint pen, rubber band, tweezers, nasal spray, and a
turkey baster.

July 06, 2010

Youk is fine? They're talking about him playing tomorrow, so he's probably really fine.

But I'm still not over the scare we had tonight when he pulled up lame and left the game with what's been described as "right ankle pain". Now it's being described as a "spasm" and everything's totally fine. Or such are the preliminary reports.

But in the time between the first report and the second, as you contemplate the possibilities, you want to find someone, whoever's in charge, and go, listen. Hey. Knock it off, okay? This has got to be against some rule somewhere. You mean to tell me there's no league bylaw prohibiting the loss of more than half a dozen key players in one season? Who do I see about this?!

I've spent many minutes of my life I'll never get back over the last few days typing in captcha codes on the MLB All-Star Final Vote page for Youkilis, because the very idea of Nick Swisher making the All-Star Game over Kevin Youkilis makes me shudder. I lost count at 30 votes yesterday; I'd say I'm well over 100 by now (and also well aware that folks like Cyn are putting me to shame).

Tonight, instead of feeding my supplications repeatedly into the great marketing machine in the sky, I was beseeching the baseball gods, just don't let this be serious. That's all. I could give a shit about this game right now, or the series, or the division, whatever. We can worry about all of that later.

But I can't take another six-weeker or worse at this point. Just No. Amen.

June 13, 2010

My favorite thing about moments like Daniel Nava's first-AB first-pitch grand slam yesterday is the choral reaction of the Fenway crowd, with some syllable clearly audible in the buzz or the roar that perfectly encapsulates what's happening. Moments like that homer into the Red Sox bullpen yesterday come not with that savage "Yahhhh!!" of the crowd c. 2004 ALCS, but a more reverent "Whoaahhh", the sound of 35,000 palms slapping foreheads in disbelief.

Kevin Youkilis also stole the scene with his theatrical reaction at the dugout rail, first staggering with his right hand to his chest as if reeling from a punch, then turning and letting loose a no doubt profanity-laden tirade of incredulity to his teammates behind him at the dugout, and finally seizing Nava as he came down the dugout steps and pounding him about the head and shoulders with all his might. He used open hands and not fists, but a couple of those mighty Youkbacca love taps looked like they probably left a mark anyway.

***

Today, I came across this quote from Roger Angell, posted on Facebook by Sheila O'Malley --

“All around me in our section I could see the
same look of resignation and boredom and pleasure that now showed on my
own face, I knew — the look of longtime fans who understand that one can
never leave a very long close game, no matter how much inconvenience
and exasperation it imposes on us. The difficulty of baseball is
imperious.” - Roger Angell, The New Yorker

It is because of things like Nava's grand slam that this is the case. Long periods of boredom may be punctuated by something no one has ever seen -- or only seen once before. And you would never forgive yourself if you could have been there, but instead were stuck with your face in some dude's armpit on the Green Line the moment the magic happened.

Statcounter C2F

Copyright

WHAT THIS MEANS:
It means you can quote me or reproduce parts of my posts--the sharing of ideas are what the blogosphere is all about.
But it means YOU MUST ATTRIBUTE THE SOURCE. Say where you got the quote from. Say whose idea it was. Say who found the information. Give credit where credit is due.
Do NOT reproduce any of my posts as a whole. Do NOT reproduce any of my content for commercial gain. ESPECIALLY DO NOT PASS MY WORK OFF AS YOUR OWN. Plagiarists will be found, humiliated, and, where appropriate, prosecuted.
ALL CONTENT UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED IS SOLE PROPERTY OF THE SITE AUTHOR AND PROTECTED UNDER COPYRIGHT.

CONTACT

I'm happy to talk with you about exchanging links or advertising on this blog, but please don't use my site's comments section to explicitly promote your site or your business without getting in touch with me first.